


Like the Tides of My Life

by rivers_bend



Series: Graffiti series [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-28
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a secret and Sam wants to know what it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like the Tides of My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Both Hands_ by Ani DiFranco

"Dean, what are you doing?" They're supposed to be packing, but Dean is lying on his back under the coffee table, only his feet and shins poking out.

He doesn't answer. Sam is suddenly sure Dean's dead, but then his foot twitches.

"Dean?"

"Just a second," Dean says, like it's unreasonable Sam wants to know what the heck he's doing, and then he wriggles out and stands up. "C'mon," he says, "we need to get packed."

Dad gets back sooner than they expected and it's a mad rush to get in the car and Sam never gets a chance to check the table and see what Dean was up to under there.

They stay three months in the apartment in Louisville. The night before they're due to leave, Sam goes into the kitchen to get some milk before bed and finds Dean on his knees under the kitchen table with a Sharpie.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Dropped it," Dean says, and clicks the cap back on.

It's not until they're in the car on the way to Oklahoma that Sam realizes there was no paper or anything else for Dean to write on in the kitchen.

Oklahoma is pretty much a total disaster. The ghost they're after breaks Dad's arm, Dean gets pulled over driving the Impala without a license, and slices his palm open trying to make a fake to take to the cop-shop within the allotted 48 hours.

He swears at the X-acto knife while Sam gets the first aid kit and a towel to mop up the blood. While Sam's stitching the cut together, Dean says, "Sorry, Sammy. I know you hate sewing."

"You're sixteen now," Sam answers, thinking he's probably the only kid in the sixth grade who has ever had to stitch his brother's hand back together. "Why don't you just get a real one?"

Dean looks like that never actually occurred to him.

Before Dean gets around to making a license that isn't covered in blood, Dad finds old Ghostie's bones and they salt and burn and get the hell out of town. Sam lags behind in the motel room long enough to check under the little table inside the door and doesn't find anything suspicious.

He didn't think to check the bedside table though.

Their next stop is Taos, where Dad's friend, Roger, gets Dean a nearly genuine NM drivers license. Dean has a ridiculous grin on his face in the photo like he's thrilled he passed the test, but really he's just laughing at Sam who farted loudly at the moment Roger snapped the picture.

Dad and Roger get out a stack of books after dinner, and Sam and Dean go play pool in the rec room. When Dean leans over to line up a shot on the two, Sam notices something in his back pocket.

He looks closer. "What's with the Sharpies?" he asks.

"What's with the staring at my ass?" Dean replies and sinks two more balls with one shot.

"You wish." Dean probably does think Sam was staring at his ass. He's gotten a totally swelled head since Melanie Simpson dumped the captain of the football team to ask Dean to prom at their last school. "And that doesn't answer my question."

"It's just a pen, Sam. Now watch and learn. I'm kicking your ass here."

He is, too. There's only one solid left besides the black.

They stay two days with Roger before heading north to Colorado. The motel Dad finds is wild: lime green paint, orange and pink accents, tassels on the bed covers. There's a long silver table opposite the door with fake flowers in silver-painted baskets. "Jesus," Dad says when they walk into the room. "What the _hell_ were they thinking here?"

Sam wonders the same thing. He and Dad go pick up some food while Dean cleans the weapons and has a shower. Sam spies the Sharpie in Dean's pocket again while they're eating dinner.

In the morning he checks the silver table, and he sees _**DW 8-7-95**_, small, black, tucked into the corner under the tabletop.

He wonders how long Dean's been doing it; leaving his mark wherever they go. And why. He can't say anything with Dad hovering though, if he does it'll sound like tattling. Sam waits until Dad's snoring in the bed next to them and he and Dean are lying side-by-side waiting for sleep to come.

"Why do you do it?" Sam asks, turning so his mouth is close to Dean's ear.

"Because it feels good," Dean whispers. "Why do you do it?"

"I don't." Sam's confused.

"Sammy, I've heard you in the shower. You can't fool me." There's a smirk in Dean's voice that Sam would be able to hear even if he couldn't see Dean's lips in the light bleeding through the curtains.

"Shut up," Sam hisses. Dean is _so_ embarrassing. Sam's only done it twice, and he was quiet. There's no way Dean heard him.

"A boy's got needs, Sammy, is all I'm saying. It's only natural."

"That's not even what I'm talking about." Sam shoves Dean's chest to show he's serious. "Why do you keep putting your initials on stuff?"

"What?" Dean says, but before Sam can open his mouth to answer, he goes on. "You're such a stalker, freak. Go to sleep." Then he rolls over with his back to Sam and pulls the covers up to his ear.

Sam still doesn't get it—Why do graffiti at all if you're going to do it where no one can see?—but he can tell it's not something Dean is going to explain. He rolls over himself and lines his spine up with Dean's, and drifts off feeling his brother breathe against his ribs.


End file.
